


Divine Retribution ~ Petty Vengence

by spangelbanger



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Gen, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 23:43:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7243591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spangelbanger/pseuds/spangelbanger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel finds out about Becky's kidnap/magical brainwashing roofing of Sam and is not impressed. Being the only angel that still doles out punishments to the wicked, and seeing as how Sam is one of his friends, and he really likes teaching bad people lessons he decides that she's exactly the next best target for some divine retribution. Especially since the odds of Sam and Dean showing up and ruining the fun is next to nothing. </p><p>Gabriel likes teaching people lessons. </p><p>Somewhere there's a line between justice and vengeance. I don't know where this line is and I don't care. We'll cross it when we get there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Angel170](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angel170/gifts).



Gabriel was inventive. It was something he took pride in. He normally wouldn't go after a girl. There was something inherently sexist in it that he just didn't want to look too closely at. Maybe because in his experience very few girls were dicks because they could get away with it. Unlike most of the men that he choose to teach lesson's to.

It was rare that he made an exception but the more that he thought about it the more pissed off he got and the less he cared that the girl in question was in fact a girl. The more she was something else.

It wasn't like it was hard to find her. It wasn't even that hard to follow her. Average in every sense of the word. She wasn't what he expected, though it wasn't like Sam really described her.

She was blond, and smiling, but it was the smile of someone that didn't fit in, knew it, and was trying to pretend they weren't painfully aware how out of place they were.

He almost felt sorry for her.

The original plan. The one in which he played out his own personal fantasy of ripping her to tiny shreds in the name of divine retribution seemed a little extreme.

It wasn't. If she wasn't a girl. If she wasn't trying so hard to be likable and failing, if she wasn't just a little on the pathetic side, then he would have gone with the plan. Drop her into some nightmare that would have her begging for forgiveness or mercy or anything similar. It wouldn't make him feel better though.

Besides murder, despite all appearances to the contrary wasn't really his thing. His thing was more, pleasure, more teaching lessons to the lost and punishing the wicked. She was twisted. Had to be to think that kidnapping someone and forcing them to get married through magic and brainwashing was anything but pure evil.

She seemed more lost than evil. That was okay, he could work with that just fine.

He caught her outside a mall, smiled at her, and saw the way she took a side step away from him. He at least thought that was a good sign. Maybe she had the barest thread of common sense after all. Or maybe not.

He appeared next to her in the greeting card aisle where she was pretending to shop. “I think you dropped something,” He said making her jump. She spun around to face him.

“I'm sorry?”

He reached in his pocket, a little magic and his own personal flare for the dramatic, and he pulled out bottle.

“Where did you get that?” She asked taking a half a step away from him.

“Why?” He asked, “looking for a new dealer?”

She was backing away, which was good, really smart. He snapped his fingers and she stopped the convenience store replaced by something a little more to his own design.

“There,” He said, “this is cozy right? You like cabins? Most people do, unless they're in horror movies. Then...” he shrugged, “maybe not the best place in the world to hang out.”

“What do you want?” She asked.

“From you?” He smiled, “nothing, I just want to give you what you wanted.” He took a step away from her and gestured around, “romantic cabin, magical roofies, ringing any bells? Think I'm forgetting something though.”

He watched the confusion and the fear and uncertainty play across her face, saw something click into place that was just a little too close to hope. It was what he was waiting for, her to make the connection.

“Oh right, you wanted to be married.” He winked at her, “Enjoy the honeymoon.”

He didn't wait for her response before leaving her alone in her own twisted fantasy.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Becky was freaked out by the disappearance of the guy that had dragged her out to the middle of god knows where. It was probably a dream, she was probably just having a night mare. She told herself and pinched her arm trying to wake herself up.

“Ouch,” she said, less because it hurt, more to break the silence.

There wasn't any sound coming from the house, she sat down on the couch not sure where she was suppose to go or what she was suppose to do next. Things like this weren't suppose to happen to her. She was normal and boring, and not the kind of person psychopaths were suppose to kidnap. “okay, okay I'll just call someone,” she said, pulling out her phone. It was a relief to see it had full bars of service and seventy percent battery.

The idea worked great right up until she hit the send button and the phone shut off in her hand. She dropped it on the couch next to her. Frustrated and starting to get scared.

“right,” she said, to the empty air, change of plan. She walked to the front door and opened it. The door swung inward on groaning hinges and the sound made goosebumps jump across her skin. Her brain didn't quiet process what she was seeing at first. The door didn't go outside, she could see herself standing at an open door that opened onto an infinity of the image repeating. She looked back over her shoulder and saw herself looking over her shoulder into an infinity in the other direction.

She felt dizzy, untethered from reality. She stepped away from the door and slammed it. There was no way that she was getting out that way. She searched through the living room for a phone. Already knowing she probably wouldn't find one, and even if she did it probably wouldn't work, but it was doing something.

The rest of the cabin she was almost afraid to look at, she wondered if all of the doors opened into infinite loops or just the front door, but she really wasn't ready to find out for sure yet. She managed to not freak out for all of three minutes then she resumed exploring the cabin, it turned out the door on the other side of the room did not open into an infinite loop despite somehow being part of it.

It opened into a closet. She held out a crazy half hope and walked backward toward the other door. She reached for the door knob, groped blindly for it until she felt it against her hand and pulled it open. The closet remained giving her a burst of excited hope. She turned around and saw again herself standing at the doorway. She looked back at the closet and it was gone. Lost in the two seconds she had taken her eyes off it. She slammed the door and both doors closed. She didn't check to see if the closet was back. She assumed that it would be and that was really good enough.

“Damn it,” she muttered.

Off the living room was a small kitchen on the other side of it was another door. She went toward it and noticed that there was actually two of them, the one straight through opened into a bathroom the one beside the refrigerator she opened to find a bedroom.

It looked like something from a dream, a large four poster bed with wispy layered curtains surrounding it, completely obscuring what the bed actually looked like. The room was larger than the rest of the cabin combined. If she wasn't so freaked out she might have been a little more curious to explore the room.

Instead she closed the door and looked at the fridge. There was about as much a chance of the exit being through there as any of the other doors. She opened it, and it was fully stocked. She closed it, no way was she eating food in a weird ass cabin that was dimensionally challenged.

She wandered again from room to room, taking stock.

It wasn't like the place was inherently freaky as long as she didn't open any doors. It was warm, but not too hot, it smelled like candles, like mulberry and maybe apple, she wasn't sure, there was definitely something fruity, and it matched the few green and burgundy candles spread through the room. It was quiet, but not as creepily quiet as it first seemed. It was almost like now that she wasn't freaking out she could hear the world spinning outside the cabin. There was the sound of birds calling muffled through the thin walls, but not completely silenced. Somehow that sound alone gave her more hope than anything else. There had to be a way out. She just had to stay calm and find it.

She started going through cabinets, and shelves, and found a bunch of board games, a stack of magazines, some books that were on no ones to read list, and a stack of notebooks. In one of the closets.

With nothing else to do she grabbed one of the notebooks and took it back to the couch.

The writer in her was helpful enough to suggest that maybe without the internet she could actually get some writing done.

That was never going to happen. She didn't write outside her computer ever.

But it was an ideal.

At the top of the page she wrote WWSD. She ended up covering the rest of the page in hearts while she tried to think of anything that she could do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie i totally drew WWSD on a peice of paper, but i couldn't make the image look good so I didn't add it to the chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

Becky had pretty much forgotten about the bedroom in the stress of everything else going on. She was no closer to coming up with a way of escaping and her list of people who could have been responsible was a really big “Idfk.”

On the list of things the cabin was missing a clock was one she didn't expect to miss, but she kept feeling like she had been there for hours. Like the daylight outside the windows wasn't going anywhere despite her feeling that it should have been the middle of the night.

It was exhaustion that finally sent her to find the bed. She pushed open the door and was half way into the room before she realized there was more in there than just a bed. There was someone sitting in a chair by the window looking outside.

It would have taken someone a lot dumber than Becky to not recognize him Instantly. Sam Winchester was there with her. Looking out the window like it was the most peaceful place he'd ever been. If she hadn't already tried the pinching thing she would have done it again. She barely contained the urge to jump. Instead she squeaked happily, “thank god you're here. I thought I was going to be stuck here alone for like ever.”

There wasn't an answer from him.

She moved in front of him, and he looked up at her, the look almost recognition, but something a little more vacant.

“Are you okay?” She asked not willing to give into the panic threatening to explode into full blown hyperventilation at any second.

“Are you okay?” He echoed back at her.

She took a breath, _was she okay?_ “Well, yeah other than being kidnapped by a maniac.” 

His voice came out soft, something almost dreamy and he looked back out into the forest beyond the cabin, “kidnapped by a maniac.” 

She took a half step backwards from him, something was seriously fucking wrong. Not just with the place or the weird doors to no where, or the disappearing closet, something was wrong with Sam and that scared her a hell of a lot more than a weird house. 

“Sam, where's Dean?” She asked, trying to get something out of him, something other than the feeling like she was about to fall off a damn cliff. 

“Where's Dean?” He echoed his eyes on her for a fraction of a second and then there was nothing there, no familiarity, no concern no recognition, nothing just the blank look. 

“You do know Dean.” she said without thinking. 

“No Dean.” he repeated. Or maybe it was _know Dean._ She wasn't sure but she was willing to bet he was just repeating her own words back at her. 

She close her eyes and said, “please stop repeating me, I need your help.” 

There wasn't an answer. He also didn't look at her. If it was bad before somehow it was worse, because rather than just being alone, she was with the only person she'd want to be locked in a freaky cabin with, but there was something seriously wrong with Sam. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

When she was a kid Becky had one of those tea sets that every girl is eventually given by someone. She remembered a thousand pretend conversations with a flock of teddy bears and dolls. Pretending to talk about the weather or pretend marriages or whatever the hell it was that she thought grown ups did. It was a little like that only, nothing at all like that and absolutely terrifying.

She was definitely talking to herself, just sometimes Sam repeated what she said, but only sometimes. Most of the time he was just there. So still and quiet that more than once she had to check that he even had a pulse.

Which would have worked a lot better if she actually knew how the hell to check for a pulse to begin with. He didn't move, neither toward her which would have been awesome or away from her the way she would have expected.

He was too still and too quiet and the longer he didn't move the more freaked out she was getting. “Please,” She whispered, “please just do something? Anything!” She grabbed his arm in a desperate attempt to get him at least moving and pulled. She could have wept for joy when he stood up and she led him into the kitchen.

She let go of his arm and walked into the living room, it wasn't until she turned around that she realized he hadn't followed her, he was standing beside the fridge staring blankly at the wall in front of him. Not looking at it she realized, looking through it, his eyes were unfocused, _like a blind man_ , she couldn't help thinking and the thought did nothing to comfort her.

For an insane second she thought that if she touched him, her hand might go through him, that he wasn't really there, that he was like an illusion or something. She grabbed his hand, his hand felt huge in comparison to her own. His finger's locked with her own, it felt for a half a second that he was there with her, he stood silent but held her hand, warm and solid and _there_.

She led him to the living room, and after realizing he would do nothing but stand there staring blankly at nothing without her guiding touch she got him to sit down on the couch. She sat down on the opposite end of the couch from him and looked down at her feet. The floor beneath them seemed solid enough but she couldn't help but wonder what was beneath her, was it actually solid ground? Or was it some void stretching on forever in every direction? Was she even on the same planet anymore?

She closed her eyes against the sudden feeling that she was about to fall through the floor and into the nothingness beyond it. It didn't help She opened her eyes and picked her feet up off the floor tucking them beneath her like it would somehow help. She turned toward Sam, toward someone who represented so much to her, safety and hope, and that hero's existed and there was nothing there. He was just empty of all the things that made him Sam.

“It's going to be okay,” she said, to comfort herself, “if you're here, then Dean's coming, we're going to be okay.” She edged a little closer, close enough to put her hand on his he didn't pull away, and didn't tell her to stop touching him. She leaned against him closed her eyes and pretended that this wasn't the weirdest thing to ever happen to her, let herself pretend that he was okay, and they weren't trapped god knows where, and that she wasn't just one more weird thing away from really freaking out.

It was borrowed comfort, but for a little while it helped to pretend, to let herself believe that he was with her. That he wouldn't let anything happen to her. She felt the exhaustion that had led her to the bedroom to begin with creeping back in, redoubling since it'd been so long ignored. She debated what to do. She sat up just long enough to really look at him. Then curled up on the couch moving his arm so she could rest her head on his thigh. She moved his arm back over her shoulders and intertwined their fingers holding on like he was her life line.

“Don't worry,” she said again, “Dean's coming.”

He repeated it, the words soft and quiet coming like words in a dream. It wasn't much, but it was enough for her to finally give in and let herself drift somewhere closer to sleep, it was too late, she was too tired, and she hoped that when she woke up this would all just be another in a long line of nightmares inspired by reading too many of Chuck's books.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

The cabin was too small. Where it had seemed cozy after pushing the two week mark it was driving her crazy. There wasn't anything to do that she hadn't already done. The place had a weird static to it. It didn't matter what she did when she woke up everything was the same as when she first got there, the only difference being her and the thing sharing the space with her.

She'd given up on believing it was actually Sam. It was either accept that it was a substitute or lose her damn mind.

She was pretty sure that she'd been there for almost a month. At least that's what it seemed like. She slept, she ate, she paced the length of the cabin searching for some way out.

Sometimes she talked to the thing that wasn't quite Sam.

Sometimes he repeated what she said back at her like some twisted echo. She spent a lot of time sitting at the door that had scared her so much staring at herself. On impulse she stood up and walked through the door. She walked for an impossible amount of time, walked until her legs hurt and she was thirsty. It was thirst that made her stop and close the door at last detouring to the kitchen. She pretended she didn't see the form standing by the door where she had left him looking out into nothing. She wondered what would happen if he opened the door instead of her, the problem was she couldn't exactly test the theory. She couldn't make him do anything but repeat the words she said and walk where she led.

She talked sometimes, filling the air with pointless chatter, he didn't care, he didn't answer. She felt embarrassed at her own stupidity in talking knowing he wasn't listening.

So she went through motions, talking to fill the silence, then not talking because no one was listening, She ate when she was hungry, slept when she was tired, spent most of her time staring at Sam trying to figure out what he was and how he worked.

An idea came to her when she handed him a glass to hold and he held it like he didn't even notice it. She took the glass from him and led him to the door. She guided his hand to the door knob whispered, “Please work” and tried to get him to the knob. Hoping that if he was the one to open it, it would actually open.

The door swung outward and she felt the panicked despair, she was never getting out of the cabin. She'd never make it home. The thought scared the hell out of her and she pushed the door closed, collapsing onto the floor in front of it. She tried so hard to be strong and to be brave, and to be okay because she wasn't alone. But she was. She was utterly and completely alone.

 


	6. Chapter 6

The bottle had been there all along, she remembered it when she saw it. Sitting silently on the table beside the bed. The man who had dragged her from the grocery store aisle had used it to get her attention. She knew what it was. It wasn't like she could forget that magic that had gotten her so close to what she wanted.

She took it hesitant, like it might bite her. The damn thing that had almost cost her soul. She slipped it into her pocket with some unnamed feeling gnawing at her. She didn't want to admit that she wanted it still. Maybe she was suppose to have learned something from the experience, but it wasn't like she meant to hurt anyone, she just wanted to matter, to be the most important person to someone who was practically perfect. She just wanted him to love her, was that really so bad? Didn't she deserve that?

She went back to the living room and sat on the couch next to him and, rolled the bottle between her palms. It felt like inspiration, like an answer that was just waiting on her to find it.

She tried to remember that she shouldn't, that when he found out last time Sam had been so mad at her. But they'd been happy. She'd made him happy before the spell wore off and he hated her. If he'd let her she would have made a good wife for him. He just wouldn't give her a chance.

The words, “Enjoy the honeymoon,” rang in her ears. Maybe this was exactly what she was suppose to do, maybe this was her second chance and she had spent months not realizing it.

She wished she had something nicer than what she was wearing, but there wasn't anything. She went into the bathroom and brushed her hair at least, she was nervous, more nervous than ever because if it worked, what would she even say.

She'd figure something out. It was all going to work out. She was fingering at the lid of the bottle. It would be easy. Just a few drops and then maybe this nightmare would be over, or at least she wouldn't have to try to figure out the way out by herself anymore.

Sam was on the couch exactly where she had left him. She knelt beside him on the couch and popped open the top of the bottle. “Please let this work” she whispered and pressed it to his lips, tilting the bottle till his lips parted and the weird purple-blue liquid poured between them. He swallowed it slowly, a weird half breath later like the empty shell he had been was filling with _something._ And he blinked at her.

Hope bloomed inside her she couldn't help the smile that burst across her face, it worked, or at least it was working. He turned toward her confusion playing on his face before his eyes settled on her and he finally said something that wasn't an echo, “Becky?”

“Oh thank god,” she said, “are you...“ she didn't know what she wanted to ask, if he was himself, if he was maybe feeling half way in love with her, the word she settled on was, “okay”

He smiled at her, the smile sent chills down her spine and she backed up a little. It was the kind of cold look she never expected to see aimed toward her Sam had always been nice. But she knew the look, even without having seen it, she'd read it a thousand times, but pretty words never came close to capturing how chilling it was to actually have that pure unadulterated hatred pointed at her.

“We should talk,” he whispered grabbing her wrist and jerking her hard across the couch. She landed half way across his lap. He wrapped his hand around her throat squeezing hard enough she was pretty sure he was going to break her neck, “or at least, I'm going to talk, and you're going to listen.” 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Becky knew how long the spell would last, she knew it'd last a week tops, it might last for a couple minutes or a couple hours, but it couldn't last for more than a week. The only problem is she wasn't sure that she could survive a week. Not with this thing that was pretending to be Sam.

Her lip was busted, swollen and bleeding from where he slapped her. She touched it tenderly and flinched when he smiled watching her examine it with trembling finger's.

“Come on Becky,” he whispered to her his voice low and dirty, “i thought this was what you wanted.”

“Not like this,” she said her voice coming out shakier than she meant, but she was scared, more scared then she'd ever been in her life. She knew that this wasn't' Sam, this couldn't be him, she might not know him but she _knew_ him. Knew things that he thought, knew the way that he tried so hard to always do the right thing, knew the way that he would forgive anyone anything short of hurting Dean. That's how she knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that the thing with her wasn't Sam.

Sam would never intentionally hurt her. It didn't matter if he hated her, he wouldn't hurt her.

“You're not a very good wife,” he whispered his thumb pressing into the soft spot beneath her jaw hard forcing her to look up at him. “you're too stupid to realize someone like me, could never love you, you have nothing to offer. You're not pretty or funny or smart or anything. You don't even have enough personality to be part of the scenery. You're useless, you always have been.”

The flare of pain died down and he shoved her away from him. He watched her scamper away from him, backing as far as she could go until the door was behind her. There wasn't an argument she could give, anything she said to defend herself would fall on deaf ears.

She swallowed gasping breaths, trying to keep calm, it was just a matter of waiting it out and then he'd go away again. She knew it, knew it'd work the same as before when the magic wore off he'd go back to what he was, blank and empty, and echoing.

She swallowed past the fear and the hurt, and he was looming over her leaning down so he was as close to her as he could get. His hand brushed the hair off her neck, exposing the bruised skin there, he smiled, “what's the matter, I thought this was what you wanted.”

“You're not Sam,” she said at last choking out the last bit of assurance that she had, “Sam wouldn't.”

“How do you know?” He asked his voice dropping low again, his hand spanned her waist, followed it behind her back and pulled her away from the wall, “maybe I'm tired of people like you thinking they can make me do anything, I'm ready to take back a little.”

“Please stop,” She said, “please, you're scaring me.”

He lifted her off of her feet and slammed her against the wall, hard enough to knock the breath out of her, “good, you should be scared of me,” he whispered the steel edge still in his voice.

She swallowed against the fear that finally overwhelming the hope that she'd held out up to that point. That maybe it was all just a bad dream. She closed her eyes, and desperately prayed to any deity that would hear her, to let it just be over, to let her wake up safe in her own bed, at her own house.

“Open your eyes,” he whispered, “look at me, Becky,” his voice was so soft a complete contrast to the force of his hands holding her still.

She did what he said mostly because it isn't feel like she had a choice either way, he was going to wait her out until she did what he said a thought came up from the deeper part of her subconscious, a thought that was both a fantasy come true, and at the same time scared the hell out of her. “What do you want?” She whispered, “anything you want I'll do it.”

He dropped her the ground rushed up to meet her faster than she could catch her weight and she ended up sprawled on the floor at his feet looking up at him. It didn't really dawn on her until she found herself laying on the ground how much up there was to look. He was glaring down at her, the look of twisted hatred made her want to cringe.

She moved before she could let herself over think it, the only goal was putting as much distance between herself and him as she could. Before she had time to really consider what she was doing she'd slammed the bathroom door behind her and had twisted the lock. The door was paper thin, she heard him try the knob. A fraction of a second later the door swung in toward her with the sound of the wood splintering.

“I'm sorry,” she said backing up as far into the room as she could get the shower was at her back and there was no where else she could go.

“I don't believe you are, not yet,” he told her, “but you will be.”

He reached into his pocket, she expected him to pull out a knife, or maybe a pistol or something, it took her a second to recognize the flash of the bottle almost completely hidden in his hand. He grabbed her elbow and pulled her against him, holding her still despite her struggling to break his grip.

He held it inches in front of her face.

“It's easy, all you have to do is swallow. You can do that right? It'll slide down your throat and then this will all be over.”

She was instantly sure that if she did what he told her to it would kill her, she didn't know for sure, but the idea of it made her feel sick to her stomach, a horrified feeling that if she drank the stuff there wouldn't be anything of her left. The way there hadn't been anything in him until she poured it down his throat. “It's poison.” she said.

“I know,” he answered, “you're going to drink it anyways.” The bottle was pressed against her lips and his thumb dug into her jaw just behind the bone pressing until she could feel the imprint of his nail breaking the skin and it hurt to much to be quiet. She didn't mean to give in, but the pain of it caused her to yell, when her mouth opened the sticky sweet liquid poured past her lips, it burned like drowning, and she couldn't swallow fast enough to keep from choking on it.

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

Becky felt like she was floating, she felt like she was suffocating, drowning in water that she couldn't find the surface of. The sticky sweet taste of something was thick in her mouth. It felt like it was stuck in her throat, clogging her lungs, and filling her out, taking up all the space inside her and filling her with something else. She wanted to scream, but her throat wouldn't work.

Through the noise screaming in her own mind she heard another voice, coming soft and reassuring through a distance. The more she tried to make it out the harder it got to focus. He was doing _something_ to her, she just didn't know what, she couldn't tell, the panic faded, replaced by something else, something quieter.

She felt the fear draining out of her and it was a relief to just give herself up to it. The sticky sweet syrup on her tongue seemed to slip down and away, and out, and she could breath again. The hands digging into her were holding her up and she let them take her weight, felt the solid wall. She blinked her eyes open and saw that she was sitting on the floor the room around her was familiar it just took a little while for it to sink in where she was.

The cabin.

“Welcome back,” Sam whispered in her ear. The sound was like snakes beneath her skin, electric and moving it made her skin crawl, “I want you to start walking, don't stop until I tell you to.” He shoved her toward the door. She opened it and slipped through chasing herself in an endless loop. For a while it was okay, she was actually confused, she could see him moving through the rooms, searching for something, she didn't ask, he hadn't told her she could ask what he was doing, but he didn't tell her she couldn't either. It was the time when her feet started hurting that she tried to ask him why, or how far she was suppose to go, or anything, the words locked in her throat. He fell into step beside her, “I didn't tell you to talk,” he whispered his hand fell to the small of her back, “I told you to walk, nothing else” the hand behind her back pushed her hard, “since walking was too hard, maybe you should run.”

She tried to stop when her lungs were burning and she felt like she couldn't take another step, but her legs wouldn't listen to her, she felt like she was going to fall, off balance and unable to keep going, but she did, her stomach hurt from it, she felt like she was going to throw up, and she couldn't make herself stop. She felt herself crying, the tears were hot on her already stinging skin.

The tears had stopped, the only thing she could hear or feel was the pounding of the blood in her temples. The hard jarring impacting as her feet hit the floor. She felt like she was going to pass out and vaguely wondered if she'd stop then, or if her body would keep running without her.

“Stop.” Sam said at once whatever had been keeping her up drained out of her, her legs collapsed underneath her and she lay trying to get air into her burning lungs. The throbbing pain in her head only intensified with each hard pull of breath that did nothing to help.

He crouched on the floor next to her not touching her, “feel that?” he asked, “how much it hurts, how much you just want anything to make it stop, and you feel like you can't take another second of it?” She focused on the line of his finger's where his hand rested the way that he was relaxed and in control, like he didn't know she was dying on the ground beside his feet. “it doesn't matter how far you ran,, you'll never escape that feeling of not having control.” He grabbed her wrist and dragged her feet, “one more, then go shower, you stink I don't want to have to keep smelling you.”

She didn't know how she made it through, it was only thirty feet at the most, but she felt like her legs probably had stress fractures. It wasn't until she was under the spray of the shower, in relative privacy that she felt she could catch her breath, her lungs still hurt, each breath felt like razors down her throat, but her heart was slowing, and with it she found herself sobbing into the silence. The worst part was probably that she didn't know why, couldn't figure out what he wanted from her. Other than to hurt her.

The door was still splintered there wasn't a lock on it, but she doubted he'd come in the room, she was terrified of what he would do if he did.

The door swung inward and she tensed but she was too tired to say anything to exhausted to even ask the questions that were gnawing at her under the veil of pain.

“Get dressed.” he said throwing clothes on the floor and pulled the door closed. She went, telling herself that it would be easier to do what he asked, giving herself the illusion that she had a choice.

She held her breath when she stepped out of the bathroom, her skin was still too sensitive and it felt weird. She didn't know where he was, there was no sound of him moving through the cabin. She closed her eyes and hoped that he was satisfied with whatever point he was trying to make.

The bedroom door opened, he leaned in the doorway, “get in here,” he held the door open but forced him to walk past her into the room. The bed was stripped down to the mattress the curtains that had been around it were bundled in the corner, “sit on the bed, don't move, don't talk, just wait.” He said before grabbing the sheet and slicing into it with a knife that he'd pulled out of the kitchen. He cut it into long strips. Then walked around the bed, he grabbed her wrist and wrapped one end of the fabric around it. He pulled it taunt, looped it around a bar in the head of the bed and pulled it back down, he laid it next to her head. He repeated it with the other wrist. He pulled both until her arms were pulled above her head. He tied them together and wrapped the loop of fabric around her neck, “pull your arm's down,” he said, “as far as you can go before you stop breathing.”

She felt her hands complying the closer they got to her sides the harder the sheet wrapped around her neck pulled, her vision was spotting black and blue color bursts before he told her she could stop.

She lay gasping for air again, feeling like she'd never catch her breath.

He tied her ankle's down the same but they at least weren't connected to the makeshift noose around her neck.

“Now he whispered giving the cloth by her neck a hard enough yank to make her see stars again, “I'm going to go back in there, and you're going to lay here and you're going to try very hard to understand why you deserve this, you know it, deep down beneath all those flowers and hearts you pretend you care about, you know that what you've done is wrong, you're not stupid. You don't need a fucking power point on why drugs, and rape, and mind control are wrong. But that's what you tried to do to me. So while you lie here thinking about that, I want you to think about this, I could have just fucked you to make you understand, I could have tied you down, and made you scream, and bleed, and _hurt._ But you know why I'm not going to do that? You still want it, you'd still be willing, and eager, and desperate for it, so I'm not done with you yet.”

“What do you want from me?” She asked shaking and terrified feeling like she couldn't breath already.

“I want you to learn. If I can't make you understand, then I'll make you terrified, when you're actually afraid of me, when you're not holding out hope anymore, then I'll be done with you.”

“What happens then?” She asked afraid of the answer.

“Easy, I'll either kill you, or let you go.”

He smiled, “oh, and while you're lying there recounting all your sins, remember this, if you start to justify, or excuse, or explain away why what you did was okay, I want you to try to come tell me. Of course you won't be able to, but the more you struggle to try to justify what you did, the harder you're going to pull on that rope around your neck, and the less you're going to be able to breath.”

He slipped out of the room silently after that and eased the door closed behind him leaving her alone with her sins.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

The problem was that it was hard to focus with a rope tied around her neck. It wasn't her fault not really. She felt the rope tighten a little harder before she even realized that she was pulling against it.

But it was true, it wasn't her fault it was the damn demon's fault he gave her the stuff and promised that he'd love her. She wasn't trying to hurt him, she just wanted him to love her. More than anything.

And maybe it was egotistical, but he had to know that everyone wanted pretty much the same thing. She was willing to do anything to prove how much she loved him and how much she wanted to be with him, didn't that say something? How could it be bad. She just loved him.

Was there really anything wrong with that? For some reason the spots in her vision told her there probably was. She could hear the strangled gasps of her own breath as she struggled to get more air. The door opened, and she was beyond the ability to even try to beg,she felt the hard pull on the sheet and she could breath.

“You're just not getting it,” He whispered, “I thought I could make you see it, that I could recreate that trapped, helpless and scared feeling, but you're still justifying to yourself why what you did was okay. Let's try it this way, you justify what you did to me, _to me_ and I'll explain using small words why you're wrong.

“I love you,” she said putting the biggest thing out there first, “I just wanted you to love me back.”

“You don't know what love is.” He whispered, “you're obsessed, you were obsessed before you even knew I wasn't some fantasy from a book.”

“That's not true,” she said, her breath cutting off hard and fast and completely but it was over seconds later, the look on his face wasn't curiosity but it was at least open, like he was almost willing to hear what she had to say to defend herself. “Okay yes, I wouldn't have known you exist without the books, but they are more than just books, that's why chuck called me, because I was the number one fan, I was the most active, and the most well informed, and I was the only one that knew that everything in those books actually matched real stories. I knew you, I knew how good, and smart, and nice, and perfect you were and I loved you and you can't imagine what it was like finding out that you were real.”

She expected him to say something, held her breath waiting for it to be cut off again. There was a look of patience that she had hoped meant he was listening to what she was saying.

Then he moved closer, “if you love someone you don't try to force them to love you back. That's not how love works.”

“I – I know.” she said finally, “I shouldn't have but it wasn't that bad was it? It wasn't like I shot you or anything, we talked, and we spent time together and we laughed, it was almost like it was real.”

She swallowed, “Even if it was wrong?”

He shrugged, “No, I guess not.” For a fraction of a second she thought he was about to walk out of the room, but then he stopped and leaned against the post at the foot of the bed, “of course, it's not like you used a magic roofie to kidnap me.” He ticked off a finger, “or hit me with a metal waffle iron, when that wore off,” he ticked another finger, “or tied me to a bed,” his voice dropped low, and “or removed my pants when I didn't want you to,” she felt her cheeks heat up.

“It sounds bad when you say it like that, but I wasn't going to – I didn't mean.”

“You did,” he said, “you might as well stop lying to both of us, we both know better.” He looked almost bored with the entire conversation, like he thought she was too stupid to get it, but he was there to explain it anyways, “and the worst part, like you said, you knew what happened. You knew how I feel about having someone or something else take control like that because you had to know, you read the fucking books, and you did it anyways.” He moved closer, “I mean all the problems I was having just telling what was fucking real or not, and you started slipping me shit to mess with my mind, did you even stop to think what _could_ have happened when you started mixing magic drugs with hallucinations from hell? I could have fucking killed you.” He said softly, “would probably have been doing both of us a favor.”

“What?” She asked before she thought to stop herself, because that was new, the books never once mentioned hallucinations, visions, headaches, weird nervous ticks, but she'd remember a detail that big. He didn't look like he was lying though, he just looked pissed off.

“Oh, that's right, you didn't know, because that never made it to the books right? You're smarter than that, what did you think would happen when I trapped Lucifer?”

He grabbed her ankle and jerked her down hard enough that she started reaching out without thinking about it, her breathing was briefly pinched down to a panicked gasping sound before he let her go and she manage to relieve some of that pressure.

He moved closer, leaning over the bed to whisper in her ear, close enough she could feel the warmth in his breath even though he never got close enough to touch her, “If you knew me at all, You'd know that I'd rather be Dead than for someone to do to me what you did. You claim you love me, but you never once thought about me the entire time you had me with you. You thought about your reunion and what your friends would think, and showing Dean how happy we were, and you thought about the cases in the town, but you never once thought about _Me_. So why don't you try that lie again on someone else. I know for a damn fact you didn't, and have _never_ , loved me.”

He flicked out a knife close enough to her neck to make her flinch and sliced through the sheet, actually making it easier for her to breath. It wasn't until it fell away that she realized how badly her neck was starting to hurt, like it had been rubbed raw and strangled to the point she expected purple bruises the next time she saw her reflection.

“Now," She could hear the threat lying just beneath the false coaxing in his voice, "why don't you give me at least one reason why you're okay with what you did.”


	10. Chapter 10

One reason was easy. She had a hundred of them. One reason that he would believe on the other hand, one that he would accept. That was a little harder. She couldn't tell him that she loved him. She couldn't tell him that she thought that if he just had a chance to really get to know her that he would love her back, really love her back, and then she would have stopped using the spell. Somehow she didn't think telling him that she wasn't planning on using it forever would make him any less pissed off at her.

It was weird how pissed off he was. She hadn't expected him to be happy, but when they left her after she helped them take out the demon he'd at least seemed okay. He'd even tried to make her feel better.

Tried to tell her she'd find the right guy, and that she wasn't a bad person. That was a long damn ways from tying her to a bed and talking about her like she'd tried to rape him.

There was something there, some hint of wrongness that she knew had an answer she just couldn't see it.

She knew if she were going to admit to herself that when it was over, she had messed up. She knew it when he said she'd never see him again. She knew that any chance she'd ever had at him actually knowing her the way she knew him was gone. He would never give her that chance.

She realized that he was still waiting for her answer, but the problem was she wasn't sure which one would hold the most water. Which one came the closest to what she really meant.

“I can't.” she said finally, “it doesn't matter what I say, there's nothing that you'll accept, I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking, I just wanted,” she swallowed against the sudden feeling of panic that she couldn't exactly pinpoint the source of, “I just wanted for it to be real.”

“It?” He asked coaxing her, “what was it?”

She laughed, the sound forced out of her by her own nervousness, “don't be stupid, you. I wanted you to be real more than anything, and then I found out that you were, so I wanted the rest of it to be real to.”

“The rest of what?” He asked softly, “”It”'s not really a descriptive word. Stop using “it” in place of what you really mean.”

She didn't think she should have to answer, didn't think he was being fair. “I don't know.” She said, frustrated to the point of tears. “I can't make you understand, you've never had a stupid nickname like Yecky, you never had people think your stupid just because of the stuff you do for fun. I mean, yeah, okay I get it I know that I'm not ever going to be good enough for someone like you, I knew it then, but I had hoped okay, that maybe I could be good enough, could be something other than just another loser.”

He knelt down next to the bed, forcing her to turn her head to meet his eyes. There was a coldness to the look, to match the smile on his lips. She closed her eyes. He said softly, “that's what I'm looking for, you want me to tell you that it's okay because you had a bad past, because you didn't have any friends and didn't feel like anyone likes you? It's not okay, it doesn't matter what bad things have happened to you, you don't get to take that out on someone else, you don't get to force someone else to love you just because you feel unlovable.”

“That wasn't what I was trying to do.” She said immediately, denying it to the absolute core. Because when it was said like that. It was wrong. It sounded wrong, it felt wrong. She cringed away from the thought. That wasn't what she had been doing. It just wasn't.

“Yes it was.” He said as simply and matter of fact as if he already knew there was nothing that she could say to argue with it. It wasn't fair. She knew that it wasn't what happened, that wasn't the way it had happened, she hadn't meant to hurt him, hadn't meant to hurt anyone, She especially hadn't meant to hurt Sam. The sudden drop in her stomach that accompanied the thought was probably worse than the thought itself. _Was_ that what she'd done?

She didn't ask, instead let her teeth keep her lips still to stop the question from slipping past her. It pulled a sound from her that was somewhere near pain, she didn't want it to be true, and definitely didn't want to think about it. And she couldn't stand to look at the calm surety on his face while he told her so calmly how bad she really was.

“You said I wasn't a bad person.” She said, “you told me that.”

He shrugged, “I lied.”

“You're not Sam,” She said holding onto the last bit of hope that she had. “you can't be.”

“You sure about that?” he asked. “Maybe I'm just tired of people like you.”

“Sam would never do something like this. Sam doesn't hurt people. It doesn't matter how much he's hurt.” She knew that, as much as she knew anything else, it was the thing about Sam that made him perfect. As long as someone didn't mess with Dean, he'd forgive them anything they did to him.

The thing she now knew wasn't really Sam moved away from her, apparently not interested in arguing. “It doesn't matter.” He said at last, she expected him to leave the room but he didn't, he just waited, she felt worse that he was pacing around her. Waiting for her to say something to defend what she had done, but she was too busy wondering if maybe he had a point. That maybe she had missed how badly the affect really was.

“I wasn't trying to hurt him.” She said again, letting herself finally fully cling to the belief the thing pacing around the room wasn't Sam. “Sam wouldn't let you do this,” she whispered.

He shrugged, “probably not, but what he doesn't know, he can't stop.” There was a pause, “you're so close to understanding.” He leaned down closer, “just forget that part, focus on what's important.”

“What's important?” she echoed, feeling like she was missing something. She was almost instantly creeped out by how much her voice reminded her of the way his had been at first before she poured the poison spell down his throat.

“What you did.” He said, “that's unforgivable, you can tell yourself your a good person all you wont, but it's not what you say, it's not what you believe, it's how you act. Good people don't do what you did.”

“I'm sorry,” She said no longer willing to look at him, the words tore from her without her thinking about it, but she realized staring at the white curtain hanging down the side of the bed, she meant it. She was sick with how sorry she was. It was like she'd finally hit the damn that she never knew was there, and that guilt burst through, overwhelming her.

There wasn't words for it, how sick she felt as everything replayed in her mind, every moment that she'd gone too far or done something that she should have never done, something that anyone else doing would have made her cringe. She couldn't help it, she hadn't realized at the time she'd been so far into how excited and happy, and overwhelmed she was that she'd just done what she felt without thinking about it. There were never consequences in fantasy.

“He wasn't suppose to be real.” She said at last, not to the thing pretending to be Sam, not to herself, but more to the void that felt like it was opening in the pit of her stomach. She still held out the vaguest hope that it would feel that yawning chasm that was threatening to swallow her whole, but the words were hollow to her own ears and did nothing to comfort her.

“That's not an excuse.” He said though there wasn't heat behind the words, if anything he almost sounded sympathetic. “Keep going,” he whispered, “you're so close to understanding it.”

“I can't.” She said, meaning _I don't want to._ But she knew he wouldn't take that for an answer either.

She wondered absently if he could read her mind. What would it matter if he could. It wasn't like she had anything left to hide. He knew every terrible thing that she'd done.

“He wasn't real okay!” She screamed it. “It was just a fucking book! You can't hurt people that don't exist! He wasn't real.” Her stomach rolled, bile rose in her throat. “Let me go,” she managed to choke out, feeling like she was going to throw up. There was the whisper quiet sound of the sheets splitting and she was rolling over the edge of the bed, not making it any farther before yellow bile splattered on the hard wood floor.

The thing that was pretending to be Sam left her, walking out of the room without a word. She didn't look up to see where he had gone, she lay back and stared at a textured ceiling, the entire exchange rolling back through her mind. It wasn't what she meant to say, it wasn't something she'd even been aware she was thinking, but when the words were out, thrown up as involuntarily as the bile soaking the floor, she felt the truth in them.

Even when he was there, even when she could feel the heat from his skin and the thump of his heart beneath her hand, even then she hadn't thought of him as real. He'd been breathing fiction to her. Something that she had controlled in a hundred stories that she'd written, something that looked real, but she never crossed the line of truly believing he was. He wasn't a person. He was a character, a representation of all the good things that a person could be.

That's what she thought of him as. That's why she...

The bile rose again choking off her ability to think, and she lay fighting it down afraid to move or she might throw up again, afraid to not move, or she might do it anyways where she lay.

The feeling passed slowly, and she curled around the pillow unable to think beyond the feeling that she hadn't even realized how fucked up she was until she was forced to. It wasn't okay, and she didn't think she'd ever be okay again.

The acrid smell of her own stomach acid was making her feel queasy all over again, and she forced herself to move, to get up and make her way to the minuscule bathroom.

The door that had been splintered seemed to have magically fixed itself. _Why wouldn't it?_ She found herself half wondering as she closed it behind her and let herself sink down onto her knees on the cool tile of the bathroom floor.

She didn't know how long she sat on the floor, how long until the weird cold from the tile seeped into her skin, and she didn't know if she was shivering from the temperature, or because she felt sick.

The door didn't open, she couldn't hear anything from the other side of it, where before he had terrified her, now she didn't expect him to do anything, at least not yet. She didn't know if it was better or worse that he was giving her time.

If he'd yelled or screamed, or made her run again, or anything, it would have been better, but he had left her alone, cut her loose and nothing had held her when she walked away. The shivering subsided, it left a ripple of goosebumps in it's wake that lasted only a few minutes, and the sick feeling was starting to recede.

Time had become meaningless long before she lost track of it. But still when she felt like she could put it off no longer and there wasn't any appeal left in staring at the base of the sink she pulled herself to her feet.

She couldn't spend the rest of her life hiding in the bathroom, no matter how much easier it might be. Her hand on the door knob felt like she was about to walk to the gallows, but at least this time she understood why.

There was a certain symmetry in whatever had decided to punish her using Sam's image to do it. And she no longer doubted this was what it was. Her punishment, her own personal hell. And the worst part, she couldn't even deny that she had earned it. It wasn't like she didn't know that witches were evil. It wasn't like she didn't know that spells were dangerous. She wondered if she had died. If maybe it was a reaper in the grocery store aisle.

Or another demon.

She didn't know. She couldn't. But if she died, at least she didn't remember how it happened. She opened the door and was met with silence. She walked on legs that barely shook to the living room he was sitting on the couch, rolling the bottle between his hands. She sat down on the far side of the couch and placed her own hands between her knees careful to keep as much space between them as she could. “What...” her voice shook and broke and she had to swallow a couple times before she found the strength to try again, “what should I do?”

“Now, you wait,” he said simply, “and think about what you did.”

“What am I waiting for?” She asked surprised at his answer.

“Someone to come get you.” He said and he sat the bottle down on the coffee table. She could see the faint bluish purple residue clinging to the sides of the glass in small drops, but otherwise the bottle was empty.

“How long?” She asked, her eyes on the bottle.

“How long for what?” He said not looking at her.

There were two different things she needed to know. “How long until someone comes to get me?”

“Forever, maybe longer.” he said, his tone bored, and matter of fact.

“How long until that wears off?” She asked gesturing to the bottle.

He looked from the bottle to her, and then shrugged, “a little while.”

She tried to think of something to say, but she couldn't even bring herself to look at him. Eventually the silence grew too much for her and she changed a quick glance at him. He looked bored, staring at the door on the opposite wall, like he expected someone to come through it.

She looked away before he could see her watching him and think that she hadn't learned, that she was too stupid to get it, it'd be fair, it had taken her so damn long to get it.

Curiosity had always been her downfall though, “What are you?” She asked, “I can't figure it out, I mean I know you're not human, I just can't figure out what would, or even could do something like this.”

He didn't answer. She didn't dare look at him. Was afraid that if she looked, he'd look like something else, something less pleasant. She actually kind of thought that might be better, but she didn't want to be proven wrong.

When at last the silence became too much to bare she risked another look at him. She didn't have to look long to know that there was nothing left. The eyes had gone soft and unfocused. There was breath but no life left in him. She didn't reach out, couldn't stand the thought of touching him. Like her skin may burst into flames if she risked it. She looked back at the door she knew led to no where and hoped that someone would walk through it, that the joke was over, and that she understood, in a way that she never could have before, That she deserved this hell even if she still held out hope that she'd get to leave it behind. It was more than she could ever expect.

Somewhere the world is was spinning without her. She was terrified of what she would do when she got back to it. She didn't think she could ever go back to her life, knowing what she did. She couldn't pretend that everything was okay, when she knew she could do completely evil things without even thinking about it, without even realizing it, without having someone literally torture the knowledge into her stupid head.

“What am I suppose to do?” She asked again. This time there was no answer.

 


	11. Chapter 11

As bad as it was when he was trying to force her to see herself for what she was. The silence when he fell silent again was almost maddening. Becky couldn't bring herself to touch him again. So he stayed where he was sitting when whatever was animating him wore off. At the end of the couch staring at nothing.

She slept in cycles that were meaningless, the dreams she had were nightmares, things she couldn't see chasing her through places she'd never been. The hours when she was wake were filled with nothing but the voice in the back of her mind that told her this isolation was exactly what she deserved.

She found herself staring at the cutlery drawer a little too long, staring at simplistic serrated kitchen knives. Wondering if she died, would she be free, or would it all reset like nothing happened? The way the bathroom door magically was fixed when she wasn't looking, and every time she slept the place returned to being spotlessly clean no matter how many messes she left out.

There was the bigger question, if she died here, would she go to hell? Or would she be trapped in this place outside of time forever?

The longer she was alone the more the question hung, how long was she suppose to wait, and what was she waiting for? No one was coming for her.

She picked up one of the knives, felt its weight in her hand. It was so light, it was obviously not for hunting or killing things, it was to cut into food that didn't fight back. She closed the drawer, if she reached that point, she knew which knife she'd choose. It wasn't the knife that the thing had used to cut her free of the sheets, she had a feeling that knife was still somewhere on him, and even though it would be her first choice she wasn't going to try to find it.

She carried the blade with her. Too scared of the way she was thinking to really look at it closely, but it felt like salvation.

It'd be almost easy, the thought and caught herself staring at her reflection in the metal of the knife. She sat it down on the coffee table and shot an embarrassed look to him. It wasn't like it mattered, he wasn't looking back. It was part of the problem. If he hadn't left maybe she wouldn't be losing her mind, but the silence and the feeling trapped was getting to be too much.

She felt the heat burning in hear cheeks, felt stupid and embarrassed for even thinking what she was thinking. She walked back to the kitchen feeling stiff and shoved the knife back in the drawer where it belonged. It wasn't even an option.

It was six days, or at least 6 cycles of her waking up and going through her day, and falling back asleep before she opened the drawer again. It was an impulse, but she already knew where it was, it was so easy to just pull the knife out and take it into the bathroom. She looked at her reflection rather than at what she was doing. Her eyes closed and a sound broke from her lips when the metal bit into her skin. She cut deep and she cut fast. Before she could change her mind and draw it out any longer.

The knife fell from her numb fingertips. The first few seconds she was almost enthralled watching the red of her blood drip onto the white porcelain. Then she realize it wasn't stopping, and it hurt, and this wasn't what she wanted, she felt clarity for maybe the first time in days. Trying to escape was a mistake. She grabbed a washrag and tried to wrap it around her arm, but the white cloth, soaked through almost immediately. She felt a wave of dizziness and fought to stay on her feet. The ground slipped out from under her feet and she was falling, not just to the floor but into the dark hum of unconsciousness.

 


	12. Chapter 12

The bed was soft. The wisp of white curtains still fell around it. She didn't have to do more than open her eyes to know she had lived, or hadn't if she was already dead. She brought her arm up in front of her sleep blurred eyes and saw her unbroken skin.

She let it fall back to the bed, not feeling strong enough to lift it. Too tired to think even though she knew, and had already seen the proof that wherever damage she had done was already healed. The rest of the day she stayed where she lay. Not willing to get up, not sure which would be worse, seeing the blood in the bathroom or it being completely gone. As long as she didn't look she wouldn't have to know.

There was a point she couldn't bear to lay in the bed any longer, even though she couldn't stand to get out of it either. She dragged herself back to the other room, it didn't matter. Nothing she did mattered. She sat down on the couch next to the thing that for a little while had been her jailer. She wondered if there was anything left alive in him.

There was a noise from behind her, the sound of a door opening on groaning hinges. It took a few seconds for the sound to register then she was on her feet scrambling toward the door, afraid of what was coming through it, but more afraid of losing her chance to get out. He feet slipped on the floor when she stopped. Staring down a silver barrel.

She couldn't get a breath, frozen where she stood, the gun lowered a fraction of an inch, The door slammed shut behind him. Becky stared into the face of Dean Winchester. He studied her for a minute nothing given on his expression. She thought he might be there to finish the job she herself had failed. But then he was looking past her. She didn't know how he'd react to the thing on the couch that looked like his brother.

He walked past her and she saw the grip on his gun didn't loosen. Sam, the real one she hoped was standing behind him, drawing something on the door with a red marker. She looked away afraid to see the hatred that she deserved on his face if he caught her looking at him.

“What the fuck are you?” He asked the still form.

She saw him snap his fingers in front of the blank eyes. “Sam get that door open.” Then he lifted his gun. Two quick shots, one in the heart, the other between the eyes. There wasn't a sound, not a whisper or a whimper as whatever kept the body upright flickered out. Becky didn't scream, but only because she couldn't make her vocal cords work.

The door opened, and beyond it she could see trees, and grass, sunlight filtering down through the foliage, she still hesitated before trusting it, afraid of what would happen if she stepped through it. Hands wrapped around her shoulders and she looked up, met hazel eyes and thought she was going to throw up, felt the sick queasiness creeping its way through her.

“We're getting you out of here.” Sam said to her, “come on.”

“Why?” She whispered, but he was leading her out the door. Not looking at her, not saying anything else.

Outside she found the sky too bright, and the air smelled like cedar and dust. She looked around at the porch she found herself standing on, one that she'd only seen through the curtained window in the kitchen. A dirt path cut between an ancient looking oak tree and back down through the darker forest beyond.

The impala was waiting there, black gloss reflecting the white clouds and blue sky above. The image blurred and she realized she was crying. She collapsed onto the top step half afraid to touch the solid ground, almost more afraid to follow them than she would have been to turn around and go back into the cabin.

She saw them going toward the car, and she couldn't follow. She couldn't face them. Dean opened the back door of the car and turned toward her, like he expected her to get in it. She saw the look when he realized she wasn't following. Heard the way he barked his brother's name and it made her flinch. “Get your wife.” she heard the exasperation in his voice and saw the look that crossed Sam's face. He thought she didn't see. She forgot, or maybe she had never really realized how quickly he could move, he crossed the distance between the car and where she sat in what seemed like three steps and he was right there, too close, reaching for her and talking to her like she was some spooked victim or something. She pulled back, “I'm sorry,” she said, the words inadequate to come close to how she was feeling.

“We need you to get in the car.” he said softly, more gentle than she deserved.

“I'll walk.” she said, “it's okay.”

“You don't even know where you are.” he said, held up his hand, “I'm not going to hurt you, I promise just let us take you home.”

She thought it was almost ridiculous that he thought she was afraid of hurting her. She was as careful as she could be when she stood up, careful not to get too close to him. She saw the way he held up his hands, a placating gesture if there ever was one.

“I'm fine,” she said, “just go, I'll find my way.”

“Just, let us get you back to the nearest town, okay? I can't leave you out here alone.”

“How far?” She asked, not that she intended to give in, just she wanted to know how far she'd be walking.

“about fifteen miles, and it's a lot of different roads, I don't want you to get lost.”

“why?” She asked again, “why did you come for me?”

“It's the job.” he said.

And that was answer enough, he wouldn't have come if he'd known it was her, hell he probably didn't know until he was in the room and saw her. She was just another stupid victim of something that wasn't human.

He'd seen though, he had to have seen the thing that looked like him, he had to have seen Dean put the bullet between it's eyes, and she had no idea what that would be like for him, but for her it was hard, he was her nightmare, and her jailer and the closest thing she'd had for company for so long. She didn't even know how long it had been.

She meant to fight harder, to just walk past the car, and down the driveway and then, then she didn't know, but it wasn't until she was sliding into the back seat feeling weird, and scared, and kind of sick that she realized she was going to be more trapped in the car then she had been in the cabin. Because she felt the burning urge to say something to apologize but all the apologies in the world wouldn't ease her guilt.

And she didn't want to have to say the words that she needed to get out in front of Dean. Dean probably hated her as much as Sam did, he had every right to.

“You should have left me there.” she said before she could stop herself, “it's what I deserved.”

she saw them share a look and she turned not willing to see any more of the silent communicating thing, not wanting to know what they were thinking about her. There was no excitement left in being in the impala, she heard the radio come to life and sank down as far as she could into the seat curling around herself, careful to keep her feet off the leather, and firm on the floor, but otherwise she felt herself crumbling, and there wasn't anything that she could do to stop it.

The dirt road branched into another road, and she could hear the small rocks pelting against the bottom of the car. She tried not to think tried not to look up, tried to keep her focus on the scenery outside the window. It felt like she was overwhelmed, too much too quickly. The trees opened up and the were on a narrow bridge that spanned over rushing white water below. She could get out before they even realized what she was doing. She just hoped that Dean kept the car on the road, when the door came open. She reached for the door handle to find that it wasn't there. Her weight was already moving toward it though, the door hit her side hard enough to make it sting, and she saw Dean's eyes jerk from the road to her, “Did you just try to get out?” He asked.

“No.” she lied. But she knew that he saw through the lie. “I'm sorry.”

The downside to her brief attempt to escape the claustrophobia of the car, was that Dean turned down the radio. His eyes frequently went back to check on her and it wasn't okay, she couldn't stand the pity in his look, the way that. “Why did you come for me?” She asked sometime later.

“Got a call, someone found out you disappeared from the middle of a grocery store. It was weird enough to get some attention. “

“But, when you found out it was me, why didn't you just leave me there?” She asked, desperate to try to make him understand, “I shouldn't be here, just stop the car, I'll get out.”

“Yeah, that's not happening.” Dean said flatly.

“besides, it's the job, I don't have to like you to do the job.” at least he was honest about not liking her. And she definitely noticed that Sam wasn't saying anything, she didn't want to even look at him, didn't want to see the hatred and the disgusted look that she'd gotten so use to and know that this time it was real. It wasn't that she didn't deserve it. She just knew she was a coward.

The dirt road met with a highway and then they were flying down smooth blacktop far from the place. Becky realized she wouldn't even be able to find it again. There was some relief in knowing that. Though she didn't acknowledge it.

The car rolled to a stop outside a gas station. Dean opened the door for her and she climbed out there were a few people around, a bored looking kid with a half empty coke sat on a park bench outside the store, and a guy in a grease stained t-shirt was leaning over the hood of a car. It was so normal it hurt. And none of these people knew that she'd just been saved from spending the rest of eternity trapped in a 4 room cabin with a mindless thing that looked like a person but only moved when she touched him.

It was almost funny that by the end of it she couldn't stomach the idea of touching him at all.

She looked at the ground by her feet, “thanks for...” she didn't know, _Saving me_ sounded way to simplistic. But she really didn't know, she felt worse than she had in the cabin, at least there she knew what she was suppose to do. Nothing. Now she was out, and she didn't have a direction. The more distance she could put between herself and what she had done the better. Though she didn't think she'd ever be able to look at herself in a mirror again.

Dean was still standing there, like he was waiting on something, maybe waiting for her to finish thank him, but she couldn't find the words. She swallowed, there was something else she needed to say. But she couldn't bring herself to say it to Sam. So she let her eyes meet Dean's let him see the sincerity in them, “Can you tell your brother I'm sorry.” she asked, the weight of his gaze too much and she dropped her eyes again following the irregular shapes of the gravel beneath her feet. “I didn't think and I know I can't make that up. He's too nice to tell me off, but it's what I deserve, but I am sorry. I just....” she realized she was babbling, and that if he picked out what she was apologizing for he didn't give her any sign. “Tell him, I'm sorry about Vegas and the whole marriage thing. I just...” she shrugged, “I screwed up. I won't bother either of you ever again.” she said the last softly, the words choked on the emotions caught in the back of her throat, she forced herself to smile, “and when I get home, I'm deleting everything. I promise no more Supernatural for me.”

He didn't say anything for so long she thought he might just leave her hanging there.

“Thank you,” she heard Sam say from behind her. She flinched, turning toward him before she could stop herself.

“I guess we're done.” Dean said, “try to stay out of trouble this time.” He turned back to the car, “Come on Sammy,” he called and she saw the way Sam looked at her once before climbing into the car she didn't know what the look meant, something concerned, almost sad, something that she wouldn't let herself puzzle over, she didn't have the right to even think about him. She didn't want to even pretend to think that he'd been worried about her. But that was why she liked him, or the fictional version of him at least. Sam was too forgiving.

She thought with some distaste, that he had probably forgiven her. But it wasn't something she was going to forgive herself for.

 


End file.
